The Code for Love and Heartbreak - Jillian Cantor Page 0,48
say, taking a bite of my sandwich. “Rhapsody in Blue.”
“No,” Laura says. “I disagree! Freddie Mercury’s voice beats everything.”
As a pianist, I’d take Gershwin over Freddie Mercury any day. Plus, Gershwin has patterns that make sense. “Bohemian Rhapsody,” not so much.
“See,” Sam says, laughing. “I told you E would agree with me.” He reaches up to high-five me. I reluctantly high-five him back.
Laura rolls her eyes and bumps his shoulder gently with her own. “Of course she agrees with you. You two are both such nerds.”
“Compliment accepted,” Sam says with a grin, bumping Laura’s shoulder back.
I eat my cheese hoagie, watch the two of them laughing with each other, and I think again about what George said this morning. Maybe my algorithm is perfect. Maybe Sam and Laura actually are good together.
* * *
“What should I wear on my date with George?” Hannah asks after school. She’s come home with me so we can work more on our app before our meeting tomorrow. Jane’s on her way over to work with us, too. Hannah’s question catches me off guard, as I’d been in the middle of trying to explain Xcode to her, showing her how to make George’s new photo frames come to life in the app, when she blurted out her question about her outfit, seemingly out of nowhere.
“I don’t know,” I say, my tone sharper than I intend. “Do you want to learn to do this or not?”
“I do,” she says, frowning. “Sorry.”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. We just need to get it done, that’s all.” Thanksgiving is next week, and Sam is going to Phoenix, and Hannah will be at her dad’s in the city, and the following Tuesday, when we’re back in school, we have to go to Princeton to present our app to the regional judges. “And honestly,” I say now, “George is...George. I don’t think he’ll even notice what you wear.”
“So you think jeans and my cute green sweater and flats?” She’s still talking about her outfit, and it’s such a question for Izzy, not me, that I’m tempted to FaceTime Izzy, hand Hannah my phone and go upstairs to my room to work alone so we can actually get stuff done.
But then the doorbell rings. Jane. I don’t answer Hannah’s question about her outfit choice, and instead jump up to get the door.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jane says, walking in. She throws her school bag on the bench by the door next to mine and Hannah’s and pulls her laptop from her bag. “On the way out of school I kept getting stopped by people asking for matches. Mara and Liz apparently have a lot of friends, and they’ve been telling everyone about our app.”
She pulls a list of names out of the pocket of her lab coat, hands it over to me. I unfold it and look—there are about twenty names and phone numbers on here. I’m glad that people are interested in our app, but I’m worried about making the code as workable as possible before regionals. It won’t matter how many matches we have if our code isn’t running smoothly. “We really need to clean up code today, get the app presentable before the holiday.”
“I know,” Jane says. “But the more matches we make and track, the stronger our presentation can be for the judges.”
I consider what she’s saying. She’s right. “Okay, why don’t we have Hannah run these new matches. And you and I can work on getting the code right.”
We walk into the kitchen, and Hannah is back looking at her laptop. She’s forgotten about her outfit, or has decided I’m useless with these things and has moved on. She looks up, smiles, says hi to Jane. And Jane tells her that we need to have her switch over to running new matches now so the two of us can clean up the code. “Oh, okay, cool,” she says, sounding breathless, excited that we are entrusting her with her own job.
The three of us sit around my kitchen table, laptops open, all working quietly, until Jane yawns really loudly and stretches her arms above her head. Hannah and I look up at her. “Sorry,” she says, laughing. “Do you have any caffeine, Emma?”
“I can make you my special mocha,” I say, explaining about my combination of coffee, Swiss Miss and whole milk.
She smiles. “Coffee and hot chocolate—what’s not to love?”